


Spit It Out

by HDLynn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Din needs to use his words, Drabble, F/M, Minor Injuries, OR IS IT, Short One Shot, Some Fluff, Some Swearing, general medical talk, helmets are hard to emote through, one sided pining, some soft Din
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25254265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HDLynn/pseuds/HDLynn
Summary: When the beroya you have a crush on needs to be stitched up after a hunt he doesn't want it to be you, will Din tell you what is going on?
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, The Mandalorian/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 89





	Spit It Out

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from tumblr: From @anxiety-riddled-mando “How about Angst #5 with Din”  
> Angst #5 “Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole.”

Hunters, they were all skull and no brains.

You would have slammed the drawers of the medical cabinet closed if you had been a less disciplined Mandalorian. Today had been one of those challenging ones for you. You were the main healer’s apprentice, but Lo'ani had been called away to help with a complicated birth of another nearby tribe. So that left you to deal with a broken collarbone, a dislocated knee, a nasty kitchen grease burn, and a fractured wrist. It was like the tribe had lost all their fine motor skills today.

So when you heard the door open again you turned to greet your latest patient. You were surprised to see the familiar set of armor of Din Djarin. Frick.

The one Mando you had been harboring a one-sided crush on for a while now and the one Mando who seemed to avoid you at all costs. He even somehow always seemed to get patched up by Dr. Lo'ani when you were otherwise occupied, it wasn’t subtle at all. Yet here he was with blood dripping from a deep gash on his arm and onto the clean floor.

“Get on the table, I’m going to have to irrigate that wound.” You ordered, finding it easier to fall back on your training than to think about…him.

“Where’s Dr. Lo'ani?“ Din demanded, ignoring your order.

"They’re out, helping with a birth- where are you going with that open wound?”

He practically growled at you, his movements jerky, “I’ll take care of it.”

You gaped at him, not that he could see the expression. Sure, Djarin seemed to avoid you but you knew you were a fine healer. After having admired the hunter for so long it had been like a vibroblade in the side to carry all those times he had literally turned out of a room when he saw you and here he was doing it again.

“By the Maker, why do you hate me so much, Din?” you growl out. Anger, pain, and confusion coloring your words in equal measures, but you felt instantly better for having spilled it out in the open.

Djarin froze, his hand still on the door. You waited for a beat expecting him to lash back but when he didn’t you had to turn away, something like disappointment curling in your stomach that you apparently were not even worth Din’s anger at the insult. It would have been easier to hate him back if he was cruel and lashed back.

“You know what forget it, you’re just a fucking asshole. Bleed out for all I care.”

You almost jumped out of your boots when a gloved hand gently – hesitantly – touched your elbow as Din whispered your name. He had been silent in moving across the room to your position, how such a large man could be so quiet you didn’t know.

“You…you think I hate you?” his bucket was tilted to the side.

“What am I supposed to think? You avoid me, you barely can talk to me. Seven hells you won’t even let me do my job!”

“Gedet'ye, sushir at ni. I don’t hate you…you terrify me.”

Your brow wrinkled in confusion as you shook your head. Surely not, Djarin was a beroya, one of the best in the whole covert, while you were a healer. To be sure, you were not a slouch when it came to your combat training, you could wield a knife or a scalpel as was needed. But healing was were you had excelled, just as Djarin excelled at helping provide for the tribe.

“What are you saying?”

“That I feel like I’m going to burn up when you touch me? That you make me think thoughts that are both pure and sinful? And I couldn’t think of a way to tell you all that,” Din said, the words tumbling out in rush.

“Kriff,” you wheezed out, leaning into his touch as it all started to click together.

Neither of you thinking as your helmeted foreheads pressed together in a soft understanding, all of the anger, frustrations, and longing bled out of your tense limbs at the soft moment.

“We’re both di'kuts, aren’t we?” you ask with a chuckle.

Din just rumbled with rueful laughter, “Bolting out of the room was probably not the best approach to try and court you.”

Laughter bubbled out of you, you had heard Din’s humor before but to have it gifted to you was elating.

“Probably not,” you agreed, “But I am going to have to insist you sit on the examination table so I can sew you up.”

~*~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> Beroya - bounty hunter  
> Gedet'ye, sushir at ni - Please, listen to me  
> Di’kut - idiot


End file.
